


The Scholar

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: First Day of School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: Seven-year-old Hector Barbossa, after a couple of years being tutored at home by his mother, walks with his father to his first day at school;  an emotional experience for both of them.





	The Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> If parents had the wherewithal to send a child to school, they always sent a son. Girls, if they were educated at all, had their schooling at home. While she taught her three eldest daughters reading, writing, and basic arithmetic, Melyor Barbossa included Hector in the lessons.
> 
> Martinho Barbosa (note the spelling: "Barbossa" was a clerical error that stuck) is Catholic and always carries a rosary.
> 
> At this point, Melyor is pregnant with her seventh child, Hector's youngest sister, Chesten. The previous baby was a girl named Meraud.
> 
> Having deferred to his wife's preference for "Hector" as his son's legally registered name, Martinho still habitually calls him "Heitor," which is the Portuguese for Hector.

 

 

 

-oOo-  
  
  


 

 

 

  
"Stand still, Hector!"  Melyor orders in exasperation, taking a comb to his hair, then a wet cloth to his grimy face and hands.  "Yer firs' day at school, an' look what ye've done:  rollin' in th' dirt afore ye go…"  She clucks, scrubs his cheek, then kisses it, to a sulk from her son who thinks he's far too old for his Mum to be showing such affection.  "Ah now, don't ye be rollin' yer eyes at me, little boy…"  
  
His father is standing back, watching;  he's grinning and proud.  Martinho never went to school himself or received any formal education;  he can read and write his own name and knows the prayers of the rosary and a few others in Portuguese, English, and Latin, but that's about it.  But this fine son of his, his seven-year-old Hector… "Keep your head down and pay yourself no mind to the others, Heitor,"  he tells him.  "You're a clever one and smarter than them, anyways."  
  
Martinho's bound to be going to sea that afternoon, hours before Hector gets home, and the little boy's blue eyes suddenly fill with tears as he runs forward, jumps up, and flings his arms around his father's neck.  "Come home safe, Da,"  he whispers, just as he always does when this man he adores must leave the family to voyage into unknown realms.  "Come home soon."  
  
Martinho bounces his son in his arms to comfort him, then sets him down and pinches his cheek, looking over Hector's head at the very pregnant Melyor, who looks like she could use some comforting herself.  "Don't you worry;  there's nothing can keep me from you and your mother and sisters,"  he reassures him.  "Now finish getting ready for school and I'll walk with you halfway there, eh?"  
  


  
  
-oOo-  
-oOo-  
  


  
  
Hector holds tight to his father's hand as they walk along, feeling it big and warm and made rough by a lifetime of handling ropes as a rigger.  "Where're ye goin', Da?"  he asks, trying to make conversation to distract himself from his nerves about the unknown school and his father's leaving.  "D'ye know?"  
  
"Can't say as I do, son,"  Martinho replies.  "I'm called, I go, and I find out where once we get there.  That's the way of it."  
  
Hector doesn't like it — this lack of control his father has over his life — and he'll hate it even more when he's grown up and loses control over his own.  "Will ye be home soon?  Mum cried somethin' awful when Meraud came an' ye were gone…"   
  
Martinho stops, kneels down, and grips his son by the arms.  "Ah, Heitor, you're so young and I can't expect you to understand how it is between her and me, but listen…"  He smiles slightly, but not too much, not wanting to make light of the youngster's fears.  "You're the man of the house until I come back, so I want you to buck up and not make your mother worry.  Pay attention to your studies, learn well, and if she asks for your help, you give it.  Shall you be a man now and give me your hand on it?"  He stands up and extends his right hand to Hector, waiting for a sign that he understands and agrees.  "Give me your promise?"  
  
The boy is surprised by this expression both of trust and adult expectation, and it shakes him out of his fretting.  "I promise, Da,"  he says as he places his thin hand into his father's large one.  "I'll take care of Mum an' th' girls, ne'er ye mind.  An' I know who t' call for help if I need to."  
  
"Everything's fine, then,"  says Martinho, slipping his arm around Hector's shoulders as they continue their trek toward the school.  "I'll count on you."  
  


  
  
-oOo-  
-oOo-  
  


  
  
Feeling that Hector needs the reassurance of his company for just a bit longer, Martinho accompanies him until they're close to the school, but no one else can yet observe that the boy wasn't brave enough to come alone.  "See where they're all going in?"  Martinho says softly, pointing.  "Run along now, son, so you won't be the last one in."  He straightens Hector's jacket, then ruins the whole effect when he tousles his hair.  "Don't be taking nonsense or insults from anyone;  no one's better than you.  Don't start fights, but if someone else insists on picking one with you, then don't be afraid to put your fists up just like I showed you, and never mind what the schoolmaster says.  Understand me?"  
  
"Yes, Da."  
  
"You're the smartest lad in all Porthpyra, Heitor, so do your work to prove it.  I never got this chance, so you study for the both of us.  Maybe you can teach me something, hm?"  This idea delights Hector, who nods vigorously.  "Go on, then, and I'll see you when the winds shall blow me home."  
  
Suddenly, Hector doesn't feel so brave or strong or smart;  he feels like the little boy he is, afraid of the new circumstance he's about to walk into, and he's missing his Daddy already.  "Come home soon, Da!"  he cries, throwing himself into Martinho's arms for a last hug goodbye.  
  
Martinho gently disentangles himself, not wanting to let his son know that this parting is just as painful for him.  "Meu filho,"  he whispers;  then, getting hold of himself, he firmly turns Hector in the direction of the schoolhouse and pats his back.  "Go on, now.  Go on."  
  
He watches the boy walk away (with only the occasional glance back over his shoulder), glad of the distance that means his son will see only the pride on his father's face instead of the tears in his eyes.   
  
  


 

  
  
  
-oOo-  FIN  -oOo-

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
